The Rim of the Sky
by katnissdoesnotfollowback
Summary: It starts in the night, when the rim of the sky is pitch black, so dark that even the stars can't touch it. Soldiers in orderly lines, wrapped in sleeping bags, huddled against the growing chill in the air. They aren't really soldiers. Not like the enemy. And not like the ones leading them. The boy and the girl sleep beside each other for weeks. Months.


_It starts in the night, when the rim of the sky is pitch black, so dark that even the stars can't touch it. Soldiers in orderly lines, wrapped in sleeping bags, huddled against the growing chill in the air. They aren't really soldiers. Not like the enemy. And not like the ones leading them. The boy and the girl sleep beside each other for weeks. Months. Although he still doesn't know her name. _

_Everlark in the Dark Days and the failed assault on the Capitol. Written for Round 6, Day 1 of Prompts in Panem: Peeta's Paint Box - Red  
_

**_WARNING: Mentions of wartime violence and blood, Child Soldiers, Mild sexual content, Major character death_**

It starts in the night, when the rim of the sky is pitch black, so dark that even the stars can't touch it. Soldiers in orderly lines, wrapped in sleeping bags, huddled against the growing chill in the air. They aren't really soldiers. Not like the enemy. And not like the ones leading them.

Her arms jerks and her body curls in on itself. The first night he slept beside her, the sudden violent motions woke him up, that's how tightly they were packed on the ground. When she whimpered, he figured it out. Nightmares. Just like he's been having since leaving District 6. Today was the first day he'd seen her. He wonders where she's from. Reaching out a tentative hand, he hesitates, not certain he should do this. Perhaps she'll think him too forward. Inappropriate. A jerk. But the need for human contact overwhelms him. Loneliness claws at his gut and fear eats him from the heart outward. The cure so far has been to make himself numb. He's so tired of being numb.

He wraps an arm around the girl and pulls her body close to his. She shivers and mumbles something, but then she relaxes against him. He closes his eyes and slips back into sleep. When his own nightmares wake him, her presence and the feel of her in his embrace calm him enough to find his way back to slumber. Usually he'd spend the rest of the night tossing fitfully.

In the morning, she wakes before him. The first thing he sees in the dawn light is her eyes, grey and unblinking. She's turned to face him, but has kept his arm draped over her body. He opens his mouth to apologize, but she just shakes her head.

"I haven't slept that well since I left home."

"Me either," he confesses. Then he sits up because the commander is rousing the rebels.

Every night after, she finds him. Sets her sleeping bag next to his and claims one of his arms as her pillow, the other as her anchor. The nightmares grow in horror. How could they not with so much new material to draw on?

"Where are you from?"

"District 12. You?"

"District 6."

She eyes him and he thinks he sees a flash of pity. And he figures she must have been there for that battle…

They separate into squads during the day to steal through the woods, march towards the Capitol, and often have to fight to move forward. Their commanders insist they'll make faster time in small groups and join up only at night for strength in numbers.

"I thought I'd be home by now," she whispers one night.

"That's what they told me, too."

Not many trust the commanders from District Thirteen anymore.

Two weeks into their arrangement, he still hasn't asked her name. She hasn't asked his. They don't say why. But everyone he left home with died by the time they reached the borders of District 5. He didn't bother to learn anyone else's name. Knowing their names gives them a place in your memory.

He knows that's a lie, because there are plenty of nameless people in his dreams at night. He never sees her talk to anyone else either. Maybe it's the same for her.

One day, he finds a bunch of bright red flowers. He considers plucking one to give to her, but cannot bear the thought of another life on his conscious. Instead, he tells her to close her eyes once they're settled and ready for bed. Then he traces the shape of the flower on her back and whispers to her about the velvet petals, the elegant stem, and the rich shade of wine red, tipped with a red so dark it was almost purple.

Dreams of crimson rivers and stains he can't wash from his hands haunt him. She's awake and staring at him when he comes to, sweating in the cold October air. In the moonlight, her eyes are silver. Her hands fist in his jacket and she places her lips on his. Before he registers what is happening, she pulls away, but only to bury her face against his chest. He waits until her breathing evens out then presses a kiss to her head, wishing her sweeter dreams than the ones he has, but knowing that's not possible.

"I was supposed to be married yesterday," she tells him the night after they kiss. He can't help the stab of guilt that floods him. He shouldn't be holding her or kissing her.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I didn't love him. Only thought I did. He was just a close friend. Besides. He's already dead. Hung for treason before I even left."

"I'm still sorry you lost your friend."

"When I left, it was partly because I wanted to fight. Partly because I couldn't stand the way his mother looked at me since he died. He believed in this fight. He'd be here if he hadn't been killed." They're silent for a long time, listening to the breeze rustle the leaves. "Do you believe in this fight?"

He shifts in his sleeping bag, considering his answer. He thinks about what the Capitol claims to provide and how their claims don't coincide with the reality of life in his District. "I believe that the Capitol is wrong. Protection, Security, Stability," he recites. "Those things shouldn't come at the cost of our freedom to choose, our very humanity. I don't believe for a minute that we're meant to be treated as their slaves." She nods, the crown of her head bumping his chin. He finally finds the courage to whisper the rest to her. "But the way these leaders from 13 run things…I'm not sure that they're any better. They're hiding something from us. It feels like they're holding back. And that makes me think they're using us. Which makes them no different."

When she doesn't answer, he closes his eyes and is almost asleep when she responds. "Thank you. I couldn't find the right words to explain what I was feeling. Thank you for giving me the words." He feels the touch of her lips to the skin at the hollow of his throat. It's a barely there touch, so light he may have mistaken the breeze for her lips.

It starts in the night. And that night, he shakes her awake out of a nightmare. When she kisses him, he feels it in the roots of his hair. She grasps his jaw in her hands, the rough wool yarn of her gloves catching on his stubble. She tastes of misery and lost dreams and the fleeting chance that one day it will be better. His fingers tangle in her hair and he licks his way over her chapped lips, into her mouth and drinks of everything she offers. Her breath comes is short pants through her nose. His toes and his mind and all that exists in between are on fire.

He's not sure how, but they fall asleep while kissing. And in the soft violet light of dawn, he warms at the comfort brought by kissing each other to sleep.

"I've never been in love," he tells her the day they reach District 2.

"You should be. At least once. You'd be great at loving someone." She smiles at him and he can't help but return the smile. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Me too. Since May," she yawns and burrows deeper into his arms. He tightens his hold and breathes in sweat, blood, mountain air, and her.

Every night, he's consumed with terror. His hands shake with it, until she finds him and the earth evens out again in the form of two sleeping bags zipped together. At some point, they just started zipping their bags together into one large sack. Easier to share warmth. Easier to get close enough to provide comfort. And now, easier to slip hands beneath jackets and shirts.

They shouldn't do this when the sleeping bags are packed so tightly. It's so easy, though. So easy to unzip a pair of pants and slide fingers through heat and wet and watch as her lips part in a silent moan. He's never touched a girl like this before, and she reaches down to guide him. When she clenches her thighs around his hand and digs her nails into his arm, he knows a rush of triumph unlike anything else. Her lazy, content smile is all he needs to sleep without terror.

The next night, two entire squads never show at the camp. After a heated discussion, the commanders spread the word. They won't be separating anymore.

"When this is over…"

"Don't talk about that," she says. "Let's just get through this."

Her words hurt him. Deeper than he lets on. He'd begun to hope again.

"I just meant that…my mother doesn't care if I never come home. And I'm not going back." Now he wishes he could make himself numb again. But this girl has set him ablaze and he doesn't know how to quench it.

"Don't…"

"I'm sorry. We barely know each other and I…I shouldn't-"

"No," she places a hand over his lips, silencing him. "Don't go back. Ever."

He doesn't care if their neighbors are still awake, he kisses her senseless and dizzy and then takes them further. He swallows her moans and arches into her touch as her hands find him for the first time.

"Like this?"

He gives her a frantic nod and bites his lip to keep from shouting out with pleasure. She's removed her gloves, and her calloused palms feel delicious on his skin. Lost in heat, he doesn't realize he's rocking his hips until she lets him go to stop him, shushing him and whispering that he has to hold still. He tries. He tries so hard, but he can't help it and ends up biting her jacket to stop his voice when his world shatters in a kaleidoscope of red.

They travel with their squads, but once they stop for the night, the rebels mix the same way they always have. She finds him before dinner and holds his hand while they wait in the line. With food in hand, they sit, shoulders touching.

He asks her about District 12. She tells him about the woods and the music. Verdant green. Laughter and melodies entwined. Then she promises to teach him how to dance one day.

One day…they both know which day she's referring to but neither dares to name it.

She asks him about his brothers and his life. So he tells her about lying to cover for each other and working in the town bakery and drawing. Paper is hard to come by out here, though.

"What's your favorite color?" She eyes him oddly at the question, but answers anyway.

"Green. What's yours?"

"Orange, like that," and he points towards the setting sun. She smiles, turning her face into the dying warmth and he loves the way the light makes her skin almost glow.

"Not that red?" she gestures toward a small section of sky that's crimson, a teasing glint in her eyes.

He shakes his head. "My father always told me it was a warning when the rim of the sky is red."

"Huh," she shrugs. "I'd always heard that was only in the mornings"

Changing the subject, he asks about her family. She digs her toe in the dirt and tells him, "They're all gone." He wishes he hadn't asked.

They go on for days. At dinner, they find smiles and laughter. His heart speeds up when he catches that first glimpse of her in the camp. At night, his heart goes even faster, terror soothed away at her fingertips. Then it slows to a comforting rate while they lay there, just holding on to something good and bright.

By the time they reach the outskirts of the Capitol, they've become adept at finding comfort in all its forms with one another. Whispered conversations and confessions lead to heated kisses and fiery touches. He rubs her back to ease the aches of sleeping on the ground. She brushes his hair off his forehead and sings lullabies. Whenever one is ripped from sleep by nightmares, the other is there with a soft caress or a taste of fire to fill the void.

It starts in the night, when the rim of the sky is a strange mixture of black and yellow from the distant city lights. Neither can sleep. At dawn, they are to launch an assault on the Capitol. Not the city directly, but the train tunnels and hillside fortresses that lay between them and the city. They lay pressed chest to chest, arms encircling and hands roaming on backs. His leg is caught between hers and his heart is somewhere in her grasp.

"I've never been with a man before. You…you are the first to touch me. To make me feel…"

"…On fire," he finishes for her. "And you for me."

"Do you think it could be love? Do you think it could be real? Or is it just the fear talking?"

"Does it matter?" He shifts his head so he can see her eyes.

"Not today. But it might…some day."

He nods, "Some day…"

After minutes of silence, she slips from the bag. All around them, soldiers sleep and snore. Some toss and turn, others feign sleep in the hope it will come. Taking his hand, she pulls him to his feet and into the trees near their camp. Deeper into woods and darkness. Rounding a tree, she backs against it and pulls him to her.

He is drowning in her lips, burning under her fingertips. He could kiss her all night, has done just that before. He anchors his hands in her hair, behind her head, but her hands are busy. They blaze a path under his shirt and up his back, down again and around to his chest. They tickle his ribs as she trails them lower. Lower still. Desperation and something much brighter fill the air as she unclasps his belt and takes him in hand. He gasps at her firm grip and his hips jerk towards her once, twice. And still they kiss. They devour. When her hands leave him, he groans in protest. She chuckles into his mouth and goes to work on her own belt. Leaving one hand in her hair, he sets the other to work. And what sweet work it is. She grinds against his fingers, soaking them with need, and she breaks the kiss to send her moaning song to the stars. He fuses his lips to her skin and kisses every inch he can reach, cursing her jacket for existing and blocking the way, but he doesn't dare stop to remove the thing. With a small scream, she flies, clenching around his fingers.

"Tell me," she demands as she shoves her pants down and somehow removes her boots. "Tell me your name. And then tell me you want this too."

Stripping his jacket, he lays it on the ground and her on top, whispering his name into her ear.

"I want to live," he whispers to her as he slides slowly inside. "Really live. And to love. If only for one night, I want to live like this. With you. And burn my soul away. To not feel numb anymore." Once they're joined, he waits. Placing soft kisses to her fevered brow, her neck glistening with sweat, he gasps out words to tell her how lonely he'd been and how she'd brought color and warmth back to him. How he'd give anything for her.

She gives him her name and then shifts beneath him. And he is lost.

But he takes her with him.

It starts in the night, a melding of souls, a sharing of heat. And two names called out in strangled moans of passion barely contained.

When the chill starts to reach them, he suggests they head back. She flips them over and starts the fire anew. The birds begin to sing before they make it back to their zipped together sleeping bag. There are leaves in her hair and his jacket is hopelessly stained. But at least for one night, they tasted fire.

Dawn arrives and they must separate into their squads. Before she goes, she kisses him once more. Full on the mouth in the light of morning. "See you soon, Peeta," she says with a soft smile.

"See you soon, Katniss," he caresses her face.

It's a disaster before it's barely begun. They have to scale sheer cliffs. Hovercraft arrive before they've climbed 50 feet. And it begins to rain blood. Peeta's squad was one of the last to start the climb. So when the order to retreat comes through, he's one of the first back down. He gathers as many as he can and together, they limp as far away as their injuries allow.

They spend days on the run, healing, ducking into caves and underbrush to avoid Capitol patrols and hovercraft. Slowly, he loses his grip on what he found in the night these past few months. The numbness starts in his fingers, works its way up his wrists. They meet up with several others fleeing the assault, but remain together only long enough to ask after news and lost friends.

No one has seen Katniss.

One soldier tries to reassure him, saying that quite a few just simply took off for home. He nods, but knows she didn't. District 12 is too far away. She'd never make it on her own. No one would. Not with Capitol soldiers searching the mountains for survivors. And she wouldn't leave him, he's fairly sure she wouldn't…

Peeta can't wrap his head around what happened. At night he sees them dying, blood raining down, covering his face and hands. He hears them screaming, shouting for mercy. Sees her face amongst the dead. He feels hopeless and lost and wakes calling out for a girl that isn't there. He refuses to put the possibility into words.

A week goes by and rumors start to trickle down. All of the commanders from District Thirteen have vanished. They wind up near District 1 one evening and a man from there sneaks to the fence to gather information.

District 13 has been destroyed. The rebellion is over. The Capitol is executing traitors and enforcing some new form of punishment. "They're calling it the Hunger Games," the man from District 1 explains. The group debates what to do. Staying in the woods as fugitives means death. Returning home likely means death.

And where is Katniss?

Feeling himself slipping further into numbness, Peeta decides to make his way towards 12. He joins a group headed for 10, figuring he should be okay by himself the rest of the way. Maybe Katniss is already there. And if not, perhaps he can try to live with the verdant green forests she described with such longing. Maybe having a piece of her will be enough to fight it. Cold. Numb. But alive. Winter is in full force when they finally near District 8. They're only a few weeks hike from District 10. He should reach 12 by spring.

In the middle of night, they huddle in a makeshift shelter, shivering from cold and rain, and the rumbling of thunder in the distance. The noise of the storm means they don't hear the warning sounds. A Capitol hovercraft finds them. Cuffed and beaten, they're led into the heart of District 8. A list of charges is read. Treason, Sedition, Desertion. Murder. Peeta searches the faces in the crowd, although he knows he won't find her. There's no reason for her to be there. A noose is placed around his neck and tightened with a violent tug. He barely feels the pinch. All he feels is…numb. The last thing he sees before they pull the lever is the red rim of the sky as the sun rises.


End file.
